Morning's ritual

As time passed and the morning advanced, more and more people gathered, filling the space behind Dylan and Jake. The quiet murmur of the growing crowd filled the air, anticipation settling over them like a thick veil.

Then, a shift in the atmosphere. The crowd stirred, parting to create a path. The kings had arrived.

King Elias, clad in regal attire, led the procession with unwavering poise. Beside him, Queen Elisabeth walked with an air of grace, her presence commanding respect. At their side, the young Princess Stephanie followed, her expression one of quiet excitement.

The people instinctively stepped aside, allowing the royal family to take their place directly in front of the grand statue. Silence fell over the gathering as all eyes turned toward the distant streets.

From the far end of the city, a slow, deliberate movement became visible.

An angel guardian approached.

He walked with measured steps, his presence radiant and undeniable. Around him, a group of children followed, their small hands carrying a sacred object—the Heavenly Cross. Though similar in form to the biblical cross once carried by Jesus, this one was smaller, no larger than a shield, and it gleamed with an ethereal glow, its surface radiating pure light.

The procession moved forward with solemnity, the guardian’s slow, deliberate strides filling the space with reverence. As they reached the base of the statue, he extended his hands and lifted the glowing cross from the children’s grasp.

With a steady motion, he placed the missing sword into the prepared grip of the statue. The stone knight, incomplete no longer, stood whole once more. Then, shifting his grip, the angel guardian held the cross firmly in both hands. He lowered it slowly, allowing its base to touch the ground, anchoring it in place while his fingers remained wrapped securely around the top.

The children, now relieved of their task, stepped away and took their places beside the king, the queen, and the princess.

All eyes turned to the angel guardian.

He stood tall, clad in brilliant white armor, the divine craftsmanship covering every inch of his form—his torso encased in shining plates, his arms and legs protected by unyielding metal, his hands and feet securely wrapped in sacred steel. Even his head was hidden beneath a radiant helm, its form seamless, revealing nothing of the being beneath.

From his back, two massive wings extended, their feathers shifting and fluttering as though imbued with life itself. Above his head, a glowing halo hovered, ever-present, tracing the subtle movements of his form as though bound to him by the heavens.

Then, he spoke.

“Today… is the day when the Demon King began the downfall of the world. The day when shadows first stretched their grasp over all that was pure. But we—” his voice, deep and unwavering, carried through the crowd, “—we are the light that glows, even in the deepest darkness. Even within the blackest shadows, we remain the heaven in this hell. And as we do every morning, we gather not only to illuminate our path but to warm our hearts with the embrace of heaven’s light.”

A hush fell over the crowd, his words sinking deep into their souls.

Then, movement. The young princess, eyes alight with wonder, stepped forward.

She approached the angel guardian, reaching for the cross he held. Without hesitation, he adjusted his grip, bearing the weight himself while allowing her small hands to take hold. Just as he had done with the children before, he supported the sacred object, letting her feel its presence while sparing her from its burden.

A delighted smile spread across the princess’s face. Pride, excitement, and pure joy radiated from her as she clutched the holy artifact.

The angel guardian watched her, his imposing stance softening ever so slightly. Then, with a slow and deliberate movement, he lifted his left hand and placed it gently atop her head. His fingers moved in a slow, reassuring motion, patting and caressing her golden hair—a silent gesture of approval, protection, and perhaps even affection.

The crowd looked on, the warmth of the moment settling over them like the very light the guardian had spoken of.

After a brief moment, the angel guardian slowly lifted his left hand, adjusting his grip on the Heavenly Cross. With a fluid motion, he positioned it over his left arm like a shield, its divine radiance gleaming in the morning light. Then, his right hand reached for the sword embedded in the statue’s grip.

With a firm grasp, he drew the weapon free, raising it high above his head. The blade was unlike any other—its form radiated pure, holy energy, pulsing with an ethereal glow.

Then, in an instant, a brilliant beam of white light erupted from the tip of the sword, piercing the sky with divine force. The beacon shot upward, a streak of radiance against the blue expanse, until it struck something unseen.

A sudden ripple spread across the heavens.

The light struck an invisible barrier—a vast, protective shield that encased Silivia itself. As the beacon’s energy surged into it, the barrier became visible for the first time, a shimmering dome of divine protection stretching far beyond what the eye could see. The sacred energy coursed through it, reinforcing its strength.

And then, the warmth came.

A comforting heat spread through the city, touching every soul within its walls. It was not a scorching fire, nor an unbearable blaze, but a pure and soothing warmth. Like the embrace of the sun on a crisp morning, it wrapped around the people of Silivia, filling them with a deep sense of peace, relaxation, and unwavering hope.

For a moment, the entire city stood still, basking in the light’s embrace.

Then, as the final echoes of the ritual faded, the morning’s ceremony came to an end. The people, reinvigorated and filled with renewed purpose, began to disperse, returning to their daily lives with a sense of motivation that hadn’t been there before.

The angel guardian lowered his sword and turned, walking with the children toward the grand church—their sanctuary, their home. The orphans of Silivia, those without family or shelter, resided there under the angel’s watchful care. He guided them back, his presence unwavering, ensuring their safety with each step.

Meanwhile, the royal family prepared to leave. King Elias and Queen Elisabeth offered respectful waves to the angel guardian, gratitude evident in their gestures.

“Thank you for another morning,” the king spoke, his voice carrying across the courtyard.

The angel guardian responded with a slow, solemn nod before continuing his path.

As the crowd thinned, Dylan and Jake lingered for a moment, still caught in the weight of what they had just witnessed. The sheer presence of the angel guardian, the power of the ritual, the warmth of the light—it was unlike anything they had ever experienced before.

Then, without warning—

“First time being so close to him?”

A familiar voice snapped them from their daze.

Both turned abruptly to find Marcus standing behind them, arms crossed, his sharp gaze fixed on them.

Jake swallowed hard. “Y-yes, sir!”

Marcus gave a slight nod. “Don’t worry. It’s common.” His expression hardened. “But enough standing around. Get back to training! We don’t know when the demons will strike, and we can’t rely on the angel guardian alone to protect Silivia!”

Dylan and Jake straightened immediately.

“Yes, sir!” they responded in unison.

Without hesitation, they fell in line behind Marcus, making their way back to the training grounds. The warmth of the light still lingered in their chests, but now, another fire had been lit within them—the determination to be ready for whatever awaited them.